Jim Six Column: One man's junk is, well, junk

With the help of my Closest Companion, I continue to sort through junk from the Black Hole that was my home office.

Not everything I find is a treasure. I’ve filled up several bags of trash and several bags of material that will have to be shredded. And my super-organized Closest Companion helps direct much of the rest of what I find: We have boxes and bins for yard-sale items, photographs, blank notebooks, partly used notebooks, CDs, cassettes (for you young folks, I’m not going to go into an explanation of cassettes right now — just Google it, OK?)

We ought to have a place for dust. Right now, I am pretty much covered with it. It’s everywhere.

I’ve already related how I found my deed to one square inch of the Yukon — unfortunately, my additional research revealed that the cereal company that gave the deeds away never actually registered them, so we deed holders never actually owned the land. You have no idea what a disappointment that was for me.

Still, I have been finding things I had considered missing or misplaced: Blank notebooks galore, at least four different notebook covers — you can discern a certain pattern, can’t you? Lots of books to write in. Lots and lots.

I have also unearthed films from MRIs of my shoulders and of my brain, head and carotid arteries. No, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with them.

I’ve found old photographs of me — and pretty much posted them on Facebook as quickly as I found them. With me, there’s no such thing as over sharing.

The living room is filled with all these newly sorted boxes and bins. They’re everywhere. My office, on the other hand, is looking quite emptied out. I’m hoping that, when this sorting is all over and these newly filled bins and boxes are returned to the office, I can see some difference. Otherwise, well, this is just an exercise in, well, repositioning my personal junk.